Who Am I? Continued

At this time in my life in mid 2011, I had no value.  I had no purpose to exist.  I had no worth.  I continued to struggle to find out who I am.  To find a reason to go on.  A reason to get up in the morning.  A reason to survive the day.  A reason to go to bed at night and repeat the same process the next day. And the next.  And the day after that.  To hold onto any branch, any outstretched hand that presented itself to me.  To grab onto hope however small, however fragile.  To grab and to not let go.  To hold on for dear life.  And so I continued on with with my exploration of who I am:

I crochet
I bead
I love flowers in bloom
I love to walk around my yard especially in the spring and see the shoots come up through the ground followed by the stalks, then the buds and finally the flowers in full bloom.
I love to be around growing things
I love to take pictures of anything and everything; scenery, plants, people, you name it - I snap it
I love to canoe camp with my best friend and husband (same person)
I love to cook

But am I the things I do?  My talents and abilities?  My passions?  Is this who I am?

People who know me well would say that I am:
caring
kind
loving
compassionate
treat people on the fringes of society with dignity
The above traits are exemplified by:
bringing over food to those in need
babysitting the grands so that my daughter and son-in-love can have couple time
crocheting baby blankets and prayer shawls, praying for the recipients, their needs and circumstances as I create the garment, stitch by stitch
But is this really who I am? What I do for others?  What I give to others?

Do these things make me who I am?  Do they give value and purpose to my life?  Or are they empty pursuits?

I am plagued by doubts. By insecurities.  By fear.  The horror, the trauma pursues me daily.  It infects me every day, every hour, every minute.  I can't move away from it.  It's a constant in my life.  There.  Unwanted, but always there.

Why?  Why did these people hate me?  Why did they harass me?  Why did they bully me?  Why?  Why?  Why?  What did I do to deserve this?  All the things I've written above show that I'm a good person?  Why couldn't these people see that?  Why?

The answers evade me.  Why?  Because there are no answers.  I will never know.  All I can do now is to slog through the miry clay that clings to my ankles like quicksand threatening to drag me down.  Making it so very difficult to wade through. Taking all my energy.  All my strength.  Leaving me exhausted.  Depressed.  Anxious.  Fearful.

Will I survive?

Continued tomorrow.